


An aid to sleep

by OddmentsandTweaks



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: ASMR, Autonomous sensory meridian response, Because Goddamn he needs it, Elliot discovers ASMR as a way to relax, Elliot has ASMR, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Even if its only from some ASMR youtube videos, Flipper tries to look out for her broken human, Gen, Mentions of past drug abuse, Reference to character death, Theres actually quite a bit of comfort for Elliot in this, post episode 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 09:17:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4601355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OddmentsandTweaks/pseuds/OddmentsandTweaks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ASMR? Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response. Who came up with such a bullshit name? Just another name for another distraction to take our minds off the monotony of life. Making it sound special and different to try and create a sense of worth and identity when really it's just another false cure. A glamour to entertain the herd. </p>
<p>I am not going to waste my time. </p>
<p>Looking at a few YouTube videos won't help, won't stop me seeing her when I close my eyes every fucking time. </p>
<p>I need to sleep. </p>
<p>I don't need these videos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An aid to sleep

**Author's Note:**

> So this came about because I wanted Elliot to have some comfort after episode 6 and this was the only way I could think of since he's not about to accept hugs from people. 
> 
> Basically I just want Elliot to catch a break, even if it's only for a few hours. 
> 
> ASMR is an actual thing on YouTube and highly recommended if you're struggling to relax or sleep. 
> 
> This work is entirely unbeta'd, any and all typos are my fault alone. Sorry.

  
I can’t sleep.

 

Not after what I saw there.

 

She won’t let me. It was my fault.

 

Shouldn’t have happened.

 

But it did. It was real.

 

It’s my fault.

 

I’m sorry.

 

I made a mistake.

 

My fault.

 

So tired.

 

Four days on energy drinks and coffee. 

 

I should have paid attention to Gideon. Should have noticed the growing concern in his face, his eyes. Why couldn't I have a normal boss who doesn't give a shit? Instead he called me into his office with a look that meant I was fucked. Gideon does care, he's a good man. One of the few I've ever encountered. He cares about all of us. I wish he didn't, sometimes it's like disappointing the principle at school, the kindly educator who only wants to see us succeed. He doesn't touch me which I am grateful for, he's learned, he knows. Gideon's a tactile man but he keeps himself still for my sake. The worry, for me, rolls off him in waves so strong I can almost taste it. 

 

"-so I think you should take some time off. Elliot, Elliot are you listening to me?"

 

Of course I'm not.

 

"Yeah, sure." 

 

"So you'll go home then?"

 

Wait. What?

 

"I-" I begin, trying to catch up.

 

"Elliot, you're going to go home. You're clearly not well, you look dead on your feet and we can manage here a few days." 

 

"Gideon-" I try, hoping to say something, anything, that works. I'm too tired to find the right words fast enough. He sees. 

 

"No Elliot, you're going to go home, you're going to rest and if I see you here tomorrow I will personally take you to the nearest doctor's office." He fixes me with that stare of his.

 

Shit. He's serious.  I need to come in, I need the distraction, all I have at home is an empty-

 

"Elliot?"

 

"Okay." What else can I say? 

 

Shit. What am I going to do? How do normal people fix themselves after something like this? Should I-

 

"Is there anything you want to tell me? Maybe I can help?" He looks expectant, open.

 

Yeah right. Somehow I don't think telling him all about how I busted out dozens of inmates from prison to save a psychopath was what he had in mind. Shit. I really did that didn't I? That wasn't a fantasy. That was real I-

 

"Elliot?"

 

"No. I- I'm just sick. You're right. I'll go. Now." 

 

I'm out the door before he can argue or ask me more. I have to get away. Maybe I could run home instead? Exhaust myself into oblivion. 

 

Who am I kidding?

 

It's fifty blocks at least. Too far. Looking like I do, hood up and running, I'll be stopped or shot before I make it past block five.

 

I grab my backpack and leave Allsafe as fast as I can, I think I hear Lloyd say 'take care Elliot' but I don't react, my eyes are blurring and my synapses feel like they're on fire. Maybe I really am sick? Shit. Could it be the flu? It was wishful thinking and I knew it. This was guilt. It happened. I caused it. This is a manifestation. My daemon program isn't a background file anymore. It's live and here and running all my systems. I can't sleep. Can't close my eyes. I'm infected. Emotional malware. I deserve it. Do I? I tried. I tried so hard. It worked. So why did I fail? Why did I see what I did in the trunk. I failed. I thought I could play God. I'm no better than them.  It's my fault. I need a hit so badly. But that's what got me here in the first place. I can't. I won't. I need. 

 

I'm back at my apartment before I realise it, feet set to autopilot, trained for years like finely tuned homing devices. I get inside. Flipper bounds up to me, licking and demanding. It's okay when it's her. She can touch me and she needs me. I'm turning inside out but she needs me. I grab her lead and take her out. Maybe a walk will clear my head? It's a vain hope but I go anyway. I let Flipper do the walking, the leading, she's good like that. Sometimes I wonder who takes care of who. I am her human, she's had a crappy run of them but at least I try not to be an asshole to her and I like to think she appreciates it. 

 

I don't know how long we're out. I feel like an overworked processor. I need a reboot. I need sleep. My skin is screaming and I can hardly keep my eyes open. She takes me home. 

 

For a minute I hear sounds up the stairs. Did I imagine it? Was it all a dream? 

 

No. 

 

It's just me and Flipper and Qwerty. 

 

Next door is empty. 

 

And it's my fault. 

 

I need to stop. I need to de-bug. She was my bug. She's lost. I'm lost. I need to sleep. I can't. 

 

Shit. How long can the human body go without sleep?

 

I have to try. Everything is screaming. Am I screaming?

 

I sit on the bed. I don't deserve sleep. I don't deserve peace. She waiting for me. It's my fault. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I fucked up. I fucked up in the worst way. 

 

I made a mistake.

 

I expect to cry. 

 

I can't cry.

 

I'm too numb. 

 

Too tired. 

 

I didn't know bone weary wasn't just an expression writers use. 

 

I close my eyes. 

 

She's there. Silently accusing me. 

 

My eyes fly open, full body jerk. Everything is wound tighter than a spring. My mind fills like it's going to snap. Has it snapped? I'm talking to you like you can answer. Maybe it has, I don't know. I'm so tired. 

 

I need to relax. 

 

Something. Anything. 

 

No morphine. 

 

I can't. Not after what I did, what it caused. But I need something. I have nothing. 

 

There must be something. 

 

I need to find it. 

 

I'm good at finding things, finding ways. I can find something. I always do. 

 

Within minutes the internet is spilling its secrets to me. Most of the suggestions are dumb. Things I need that I don't have and won't go out for. I have a bath but she was in the bath when this all started. I can't. It's hers. And I don't have lavender. This is stupid. I should just wait till I run out of battery. Force-able shut down. I can wait for that. That would work. 

 

Then I see the letters. Four of them. 

 

A.S.M.R.

 

What the fuck is that? More YouTube bullshit. 

 

I read on.

 

ASMR? Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response. Who came up with such a bullshit name? Just another name for another distraction to take our minds off the monotony of life. Making it sound special and different to try and create a sense of worth and identity when really it's just another false cure. A glamour to entertain the herd. 

 

I am not going to waste my time. 

 

Looking at a few YouTube videos won't help, won't stop me seeing her when I close my eyes every fucking time. 

 

I need to sleep. 

 

I don't need these videos. 

 

They're as empty a balm as morphine. 

 

I know what you're going to say, morphine works so why not this?

 

I'm not going let some idiot YouTuber talk to me. They don't know me. I won't listen anyway, I never do to people I see every day so why a screen stranger?

 

'Because you need this.' I hear you say, 'you need something. Four days on no sleep, you need something.' 

 

I don’t want this. I can find another way. This isn’t real. It can’t work.

 

But. 

 

It's online. I don't have to move, go out, get supplies. It sounds fake and pretentious but I can't help but click the link. 

 

There's thousands of videos. 

 

Hundreds of channels. 

 

It's like some whisper cult has silently swept the site. 

 

There's faces staring out at me. Watching, inviting me to allow them to relax me. It makes my skin crawl. They offer virtual hair brushing, hand massages even cranial nerve exams. I hate people touching me in real life. I'm not about to let a total stranger near my face real or not. I know I'll feel their hands on me. My skin screams at the thought. 

 

I almost backspace out of sheer panic. 

 

This is not for me. Not for me. My hands are shaking. Maybe I can watch something inane till my brain is bored to sleep?

 

My trembling fingers knock a video link before I can stop them. 

 

Terror leaps up to grab my throat. I feel sick. Someone is going to be in my face any second. I scrabble for the backspace. Miss. What sort of hacker am I if I can't even control my fingers on my own laptop?

 

An exhausted one. My vision is swimming now. 

 

The video starts. 

 

I try to stop it but I'm too late. 

 

There's a hand on a table. 

 

Is it going to come for me? Grab my face? Make me watch?

 

No. It's just there. Perfectly still. 

 

I am frozen in fear. 

 

It moves very slightly, beginning to tap softly. The fingers are graceful, delicate. 

 

The effect is instantaneous. 

 

Muscles in my neck loosen as a gentle wave of tingles flows from my scalp and pours down my spine. 

 

Holy. Shit. 

 

I stop breathing. Focused entirely on the video. The tapping continues. So do the tingles. It's like a warm glow is spreading over me. I have no idea what the fuck is going on but it feels amazing. Is this real? Is this what it's meant to feel like? I am I imaging this because I'm so desperate for relief?

 

I realise I don't care. 

 

My eyes are already growing heavy. I feel heavy. 

 

But I can't rest yet. I need to know what else there is. 

 

It's almost painful to click off the video but another has caught my eye. Not people but paper. Someone is folding paper. Just hands and paper. I remember I like the sound when I hear someone fold stuff at Allsafe. Maybe this is the same thing? 

 

I click. 

 

I didn't know sound could be like this. Mostly it's there to be ignored but right now, it's everything. It's like a blanket. The hands are slow and methodical. I see the logic of the lines being folded. I can anticipate where they will fold next. It's a simple process, a basic code I can follow to make an end result. I don't care what they're making so long as they keep folding. With every crease more tingles spread across me, across my head and down my back. I should feel itchy. I should hate this. I should be scratching. 

 

But it's soothing in a way I can't describe. 

 

It just is. 

 

Before I let the sounds take me over completely I make a playlist, Adblock on because the last thing I need is some Evil Corp sales pitch to demand my money when I'm trying to relax. To sleep. 

 

It's the work of moments, using one of the many fake emails I have for shit like this. 

 

I'm set, a few finger tapping ones, some paper folding ones, no talking just sound. Gentle, soft sound that makes me feel like I'm not alone, that somewhere, someone is there. It's a childish fantasy I know but right now I don't care. I have you but you're always here. I want, I need someone else and if they can give me the illusion, the hope for a few hours then I'll take it. 

 

I'm not fussy. 

 

I'm too tired to be fussy. 

 

Too numb. 

 

I set the playlist rolling, it's looped so I'll have it playing all night, day, whatever. 

 

It's a paper one. The hands are slow and gentle with the paper, stroking it carefully. It's thick and the hands move in a gesture of grace and surety. I like certainties. When I'm working, hacking, I know what I'm doing. Those moments of knowing absolutely are perfect and for once I feel like I work, like I am perfectly in control of everything. It's addictive. 

 

Here, now, I'm in someone else's control. 

 

It should terrify me but all I feel is peace. 

 

All they're trying to do is help me relax. Help me sleep. 

 

And it's working. 

 

The hands are getting to into their flow, drifting over the paper, fingers touching the smooth texture before slowly fixating on the task, taking a side, folding laboriously. It's hypnotic. I am mesmerised. I am so very tired. 

 

My eyes begin to close, the sounds of unhurried folding ease me back onto my bed, curling me up as I lie on my side. I remember my comforter, pulling it over me and begin to settle, falling deeper and deeper into the soundscape. 

 

The scratching in my head has stopped, the tingles are warm and comforting, telling me to relax. My muscles obey without question. 

 

I'm falling, falling. 

 

The last thing I remember is Flipper crawling under the covers with me, pressing herself into my arms, against my chest. 

 

I'm not alone. 

 

I wonder if she can feel them too. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope I've not mangled his character horribly!


End file.
